


I drown in you again

by MisanthropyMuse



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Accidentally sleeping in a church, Alcohol, Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Public Blow Jobs, Public Masturbation, Religion, Semi-Public Sex, Tybalt is a soppy loser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7876513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisanthropyMuse/pseuds/MisanthropyMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel of Blushing.<br/>Recurring mistakes.<br/><i>But now, intoxicated by the wine he had drank and by that he could smell on the other's clothes, he couldn't find a reason why he should have opposed to something that, to be completely honest, he didn't mind that much.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I drown in you again

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I drown in you again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4676522) by [MisanthropyMuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisanthropyMuse/pseuds/MisanthropyMuse). 



The sudden change between the warm tavern and the cold night made him dizzy for a second and he swayed, making the boy who had come to call him snicker at him.  
He had something to reply, some kind of threat to that insolent child, but his voice died on his lips when he saw a dark hooded figure leaning against a wall on the street the urchin had taken him to.  
The boy walked up to the shadow and a hand slid out of the black cloak to give him a few coins and a pat on his head. A quiet laughter echoed from the darkness as the child mumbled something and ran away. Tybalt was fairly confused and quite drunk, but he had immediately recognised that sound. A shiver ran down his spin as the hooded man approached him, making his long cloak swoosh on the ground.  
When he was close enough, Tybalt saw his face in the deep shadow that the hood cast on it, a flash of white teeth and glimmering eyes, for a heartbeat, before a hand gripped his own and hastily dragged him down a narrow and dark dead-end alleyway between two tall buildings.  
Once they reached the wall at the end of it, the shadow pushed Tybalt against the wall and rushed to his lips without a word, without even taking off his hood.  
The Capulet brought down the thick material. The only light came from the starry sky and the moon, partially hidden behind the houses, but once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he could detect the fine silhouette of a face he knew too well and a pair of eyes shining with mischief.  
If he had been sober, he would have surely asked him a reason for that behaviour, he would have fought and maybe even walked away. But now, intoxicated by the wine he had drank and by that he could smell on the other's clothes, he couldn't find a reason why he should have opposed to something that, to be completely honest, he didn't mind that much.  
Mercutio was hungry, ferocious. He kissed his lips and bit his neck, pulling at his clothes and making it clear that if they hadn't been outside on such a cold night, he would have ripped them apart. Tybalt stood still and trembled, his eyes closed and his head leaning back against the wall. He had never let his guard down like that before, not even before his family or long term friends, but the wine in his head kept him from finding it strange.  
Mercutio was slowly thrusting a thigh between Tybalt's legs, and the Capulet was forgetting to hold back his moans. He wanted him, but not with the same wild desire the other was showing off. He was happy with abandoning himself to his care, letting himself be held and bitten and pulled, being free of feeling good and relaxing, his mind free of any kind of thought.  
Suddenly, Mercutio got on his knees, still silent, and worked for a while around his crotch, looking for the hooks of his codpiece, groping around under his cotehardie. When he finally managed to untie them and raise the long linen chemise, the cold air could barely touch Tybalt's skin before Mercutio's mouth sheltered him.  
His dark lips wrapped around the symbol of the manhood Tybalt would have felt deprived of, if he had been more lucid. In another situation, he would have hated him and he would have wanted to draw his sword and cut his head, but now, and his clouded mind had surprisingly few problems in admitting that, he would have never exchanged the feeling of Mercutio's curls in his hand in favour of the worn leather of a hilt.  
So he stood still, leaning against the red bricks, with Mercutio's nails digging into his skin through his woollen thighs and his mouth busy in making him crazy.  
Tybalt moaned as the other flicked his tongue around the wet tip of his swollen member, he almost squealed, shaking, and pulled Mercutio's hair. The other smiled, happy to finally hear him properly react.  
Then, when Mercutio slid forward again, taking him all in and sucking hard, Tybalt arched his back letting out a rough groan, and he felt soaring. In the dark, he could only imagine the spark of amusement and arousal in his feline eyes, but it was enough to make him quiver, his legs getting weaker and weaker as Mercutio worked his teeth and tongue around him.  
Pleasure clouded his head as a warm mist, dazing him, fogging his sight and his conscience, numbing his limbs. He felt his head spin and his skin broil under his heavy clothes. He was panting and sweating and digging his nails in the back of Mercutio’s head, pulling at his hair while he moaned.  
He arched his back one last time, squealing like a frightened maid, and came in the back of Mercutio’s throat. The other swallowed hard and licked him clean as he pulled out. Then he got up slowly, tucking him back in his pants, and kissed him, a hand still on his crotch while the other caressed the side of his face.  
Disgusting, Tybalt thought, tasting his seed on his mouth. But then he saw Mercutio licks his lips, delighted, and any logic feeling just died before being made into words.  
«So beautiful,» he whispered, so softly that it sounded like a sigh he couldn’t hold back.  
The Escalus smiled and kissed his lover with a delicacy just short of fondness. They kissed again and again while Tybalt slid a had under Mercutio’s tunic. The other tried to pull back, to ask for an explanation, but Tybalt couldn’t meet his eyes. He kissed him again to distract him.  
It worked. Mercutio just shrugged and gave in, disclosing his mouth to his tongue and enjoying the feel of hand around his hard cock.  
Wine made him slow and sloppy, but Mercutio didn’t seem to care. He cupped his face and licked deeply into his mouth, tasting him and sucking on his lips whenever he felt like moaning.  
It was the first time that Tybalt took the initiative in pleasing Mercutio, without wanting to hurt him or humiliate him, and he had never felt him so close over the several months they had been meeting each other. Finally, Mercutio was happy not to have let him go earlier.  
When he came, the Escalus leaned his head on the other’s shoulder and laughed, a soft, husky sound that Tybalt had never heard before. It was so full of genuine glee that he felt satisfied, for once, instead of ashamed, as he felt his seed run between his fingers. For the first time, he felt the joy of giving someone pleasure, of giving love without being held back by honour and pride.  
Nobody spoke for a while. They stood there, listening to each other breathing, waiting for some sense to come back into them. Then, slowly, they parted, their legs finally steady again, and tried to tidy themselves up as much as possible.  
They both wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words to speak without sounding harsh or mocking. So, Mercutio just settled on taking Tybalt’s face in his hands again and kiss him lightly, with a little smile on his lips. He was happy and proud, but he didn’t know how to say it without insulting the other.  
Tybalt, on his side, could do nothing else but indulge in the kiss, briefly holding Mercutio back by the collar of his doublet. A faint voice in his head was suggesting him to ask him to stay, to go somewhere together, but he couldn’t gather the courage to speak.  
He let his collar go and waited a few seconds too much. When he opened his eyes, Mercutio was gone.  
He sighed and slowly stumbled out of the alleyway. He didn’t look around, he didn’t wait for someone to stop him. He just wandered, all the streets looking the same to his blurred sight. He hunched under his cloak, clinging on the fabric as he tried to give some order to his feelings. The cold of the night bit harshly at his skin, slowly pulling him back to reality and out of his hangover.  
After a time that felt like hours, he found himself standing in front of a small church almost completely shaded by a huge tree. He walked up to the front door and pushed the thick wood, opening his way to the barren nave.  
He kneeled in direction of the red candle flickering before the tabernacle, crossed himself and got up to make a few unsteady steps up to the altar. He stood where the banister stopped to open the way to a short staircase that led to a stone table covered in a finely embroidered altar cloth.  
He raised his eyes on the small altarpiece, its few golden parts shimmering in the faint light of votive candles. He took a step back and fell to his knees, bowing down until to touch the floor with his forehead. The stone was freezing but he didn’t flinch.  
He tried to pray, tried to recall something to say in order to excuse his presence in the deserted little church, but he couldn’t remember anything more than random verses of psalms he used to know in a faltering Latin corrupted by his vulgar dialect. Unable to find something valuable, he settled on chanting «Kyrie eleison» repeatedly, his voice hoarse and low, until, without even noticing, still bent forward on the cold stone, he fell asleep.

He woke up a few hours later, shaken by a gentle hand on his shoulder. A priest was staring at him with pitiful eyes. Behind him, an elderly lady with his head covered by a black cloth held a napkin to her mouth, her hands shivering and her hooded eyes full of fear fixed on Tybalt.  
The cold light of dawn made its way into the church from the wide opened front door. Tybalt looked at the priest but couldn’t stand his sympathetic expression. He didn’t need his pity, he was just tired and confused when he got there, he didn’t want any blessing or absolution.  
«Do you need anything, sir?» the priest asked, kindly. Tybalt shook his head.  
«I just need to go home. I apologise for spending so much time here, I was weary and needed rest,» he said, trying to be polite.  
«Don’t you worry, the Lord always welcomes troubled souls. If you need it, you can always find peace and rest in the Lord. If you want to join us, we’re about to pray the Lauds,» the priest said in a meek tone of voice that Tybalt was seriously starting to hate.  
«No, thank you. I need to get home before the servants wake up,» he lied, coldly. In truth, his uncle would have preferred to see him carry on a less righteous life, one more suitable to a young noble man, and he wouldn’t have been disappointed in seeing him come home late in the morning.  
But that could have led to questions on his whereabouts, and he wasn’t sure he was able to lie to his uncle and aunt.  
«As you wish. May the Lord protect you,» the priest said, making the sign of the cross in his direction. Tybalt turned around without a word and quickly walked out of the church.  
The crisp, fresh air of the morning was a relief after the closed space he had just left, but the cold wasn’t good for his stiff muscles. His back and knees hurt, and he just wanted to take a long warm bath before joining his relatives to break fast.  
Along with the physical pain, the memory of the previous night skimmed the edges of his mind in the form of an annoying headache. Tybalt tried his best to ignore it, but the shame he managed to hold back before came poking him, subtle but persistent.  
Standing in front of his palace, he promised for the umpteenth time that he wouldn’t have fallen for him again, but he blushed as he got in, knowing that it was nothing but a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to translate this into English as per request of the lovely SosearchingRomeo. It took me ages, but I did it.  
> I apologise for any mistake, this is unbeta'ed and obviously Italian is my first language.  
> Hope you enjoy it, and I swear I'll translate the prequel soon.


End file.
